Hiding Anna [rewritten]

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Offer

George

"George, what's going on?" Mum called. Izzy ran right over to me and put her arms out, but I didn't pick her up as she wanted me too. "Cassie just ran off? What happened?"

I stood up and trudged to my bedroom upstairs.

"George, come back here! Do not ignore your sister like that!"

It didn't even matter.

I heard Izzy start to wail with tears.

Trudging upstairs, I tried to push aside the unease I'd created in myself by treating my little sister in that way, but it wouldn't shift. I couldn't switch off my emotions.

Cassie's side was rumpled and unmade, the covers dented with her shape. She was so untidy, and as much as I believed that was formed by her endless depression, I also believed it to be an adorable quality of her character.

The rich smell of her hung around my bedroom and I couldn't stand to be around it.

I settled, unsettled, in Izzy's room instead, feeling it to be my safe space at the present moment. Sitting down in the armchair opposite her bed, I placed the empty whisky glass on top of the chest of drawers.

Seeing the alcohol in the bedroom of my tiny two year old sister made me almost heave with repulsion. In that instant, the anger and upset faded and all I could feel was shame.

"George get out of here." I hadn't noticed my mother standing in the doorway until her firm voice spoke. "I'm putting Izzy to bed and then we can talk about what happened."

I didn't move.

"Vas-y mon fils." She cajoled. When she spoke in french I couldn't let myself be angry at her. The language was too soft to get annoyed at. "Va te mettre sur le canapé."

Her hair was coming out of it's usual neat braid. She'd been in the garden obviously. Is that why Cassie was dancing with Isabelle in the kitchen, so that my mum could have some time to herself in the fresh air? That was something I would do if I knew Mum was down or stressed: babysit.

The very fact that Cassie had done that for my mother made me want to retract the earlier statement I made from the air and snatch it before her ears could hear.

But the damage was done.

Obediently, I took myself downstairs and slumped on the sofa as she'd asked. I looked all around me, at the kitchen in particular. The breakfast bar was wiped clean, but the side counters were splattered with what looked like crêpe batter, the crêpière itself still on the side and not put away.

So she'd been here all day. Had she been waiting for me?

Guilt writhed uncomfortably like worms in my veins. Remembering the look of delight that had graced her pretty face when I entered the room, her big honest smile, stayed stuck at the front of my mind until I couldn't bear the scene any longer.

I'd destroyed that smile with one look.

My mum plodded down the stairs, taking the bobble out of her braid and instead looped in into a tight bun.

That meant business.

I began. "You should have told me she was here. Even just a text-"

"Nah ah my boy." She chose to speak in french, knowing we could communicate better that way. "We're not talking about Cassie until you tell me what's eating you up first. I'm guessing it was bad news?"

My head fell back and I closed my eyes, willing myself not to get upset. There was nothing I could do about it anyway.

"I didn't get the offer." I mumbled. "I knew the interview hadn't gone well... the guy was trying to challenge my interpretation of Judith Butler... it got heated and I knew he thought I didn't have balance to my argument."